


Make My Wish Come True

by ali_aliska



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Affectionate Touches, Banter, Boys spend Christmas eve together, Brief appearance by Pepper, Christmas fic, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Flirting, Flirty Tony, James is not the old Bucky Barnes, James talks about past christmases, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Clint Friendly, Not Steve Friendly, Pepper & Tony friendship, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Sharing a drink, Standard Post-CACW salt, Tipsy Tony, baking together, brief appearance by Team Cap, developing feelings, not team Cap friendly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-27 12:16:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17161823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ali_aliska/pseuds/ali_aliska
Summary: For Tony, Christmas is a flashy charity gala, plentiful gifts for his loved ones, and a night spent alone in the workshop.For James, Christmas is faded memories and new beginnings, and he prefers to spend it alone instead of sharing it with the man who looks at James and sees someone else.Instead of solitude, Tony and James find each other on Christmas Eve. There’s good whiskey, some baking, and plenty of reminiscing as they spend the night growing closer, enjoying the friendship they built on the ashes of tragedy and trying to figure out if they’re ready to indulge in the mutual attraction that simmers between them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [withered](https://archiveofourown.org/users/withered/gifts).



> Based loosely on a prompt from the lovely withered, this is my Christmas gift to my readers, which means it has all of our favorites - Winteriron with a generous helping of mutual pining, a first kiss, and sweet, sweet salt. ;) 
> 
> Whatever you celebrate, I hope your holidays have been full of love and cheer.

“Are you sure, Tony? You know you’re always welcome to come with me.”

Pepper smiles at him, full of kindness and warmth that Tony soaks up like a sponge, and it’s tempting to just say ‘yes’, but after a moment, he pulls himself back to reality and shakes his head.

“Thank you, Pep, but I’m fine. It’ll be nice to have this place to myself. Plus, I’ve got at least a dozen projects screaming my name.”

“Tinkering in your workshop is no way to spend Christmas Eve, Tony. Come on, my cousin is going to be there,” she tries again, “you always liked Chris, didn’t you?”

Tony appreciates the offer, really, but he’s made up his mind, the same way he always does this time of year.

“Cousin Chris is a royal pain and we both know it,” he deadpans and Pepper responds with a giggle.

“Mmm, that’s right, I remember. It’s only his backside that you like, right?”

Tony’s mouth drops open with faux indignation. “Miss Potts!” he exclaims dramatically before his eyes crinkle on a smile he can’t keep suppressed. “You think about your cousin’s backside often?”

“Ugh, stop that!” She smacks his shoulder and now they’re both laughing. “You are the worst, I swear!”

The laughter is great, but then Pepper’s hand, in lieu of giving him another smack he probably deserves, comes up to cradle his right cheek and the humor turns into something more vulnerable, _fragile_ , but it’s no less warm. There’s still a lot of vulnerability to contend with between them, after the almost-engagement, then the break-up, then the months of not speaking to each other unless it was a boardroom or a press conference.

They were never quite right for each other, but Tony never stopped loving Pepper and to his disbelief, she never gave up on him either. With the benefit of time and space, they both found their way back to each other.

Friendship has always been good between them, banter and easy-going flirting, soft touches and a sense of safety. _Trust._

Tony clings to that last one like treasure. It’s in short supply these days and only a few people manage to earn it. Even less manage to keep it.

That short list is made shorter when put against the list of people who tossed Tony’s trust like day-old trash, many of them now back at the Compound.

But Tony doesn’t want to think about the disaster that was the pardons, the disgraceful return of ‘the Rogues’, as everyone’s taken to calling them, and the one and only fist fight that broke out before Carol threatened them all with certain death.

Carol has seen what’s out there, she _knows_ , and she wants to save the world; she has no time for personal, petty squabbles and Tony has a hard time disagreeing with her.

He quickly pushes these stray thoughts out of the way so he can focus on Pepper. Leaning in close, he pecks her cheek, reveling in the fact that this is okay again, that _they’re_ okay.

She responds in kind, giving him a matching kiss on his own scruffy cheek.

“You got everyone’s gifts, right?” he asks.

“I do. My mother is going to be thrilled with that cruise you’re sending her on.”

“Good. Send everyone my love. Now, Miss Potts,” Tony says as he brushes a stray lock of hair back behind her ear, “you better hurry or you’re going to miss your plane.”

“Funny,” she says and her eyes sparkle, “I thought, being my plane and all, it’d just wait for me to get there.”

For a moment, Tony is overwhelmed with his love for this woman, with the memories of their time together, and again, he’s almost tempted to take her invitation and bask in the warmth that Pepper’s presence affords him. But her parents aren’t exactly fans of him, convinced that he screwed up the relationship and the almost-engagement (they’re not exactly wrong, even if the break-up was a mutually made decision), her sister never liked Tony (Tony could never tell if it was jealously or protectiveness, and knowing the complicated nature of people, it was likely a bit of both) and Cousin Chris _is_ an asshole who can goad Tony into a fight over anything in two seconds flat, so…

No, Tony can’t go. Pepper deserves a happy, peaceful Christmas with her family and the last thing she needs is being shackled to Tony’s baggage.

And she _would_ spend too much time worrying about him, he knows that, which is why she deserves better and so do the rest of his loved ones. He doesn’t want to intrude on their familial happiness, thrusting his presence and his issues where they don’t belong. It’s the same reason he sent Rhodey off with a tight hug and an armful of presents, asking him to give his parents and siblings Tony’s best. The same reason why he turned down Happy’s invitation to go to the Bahamas with him and the Hogan brothers and why he had to endure Peter’s sad puppy-dog eyes when Tony said he couldn’t come to the Christmas dinner to see him and May.

Just like every year, despite Tony’s exuberant, flashy presence at the annual Christmas ball for the Maria Stark Foundation and despite his many public appearances to promote several other good charities (the unfortunate reality is that people really do donate more around this time of year, so he has to make the most of it), Tony’s actual celebrations of the holiday season are sparse.

Christmas was an _affair_ in the Stark household, but not one meant to celebrate any sort of familial bonds. It was about decorating the house to look like a picture out of a magazine and hosting the perfect party to impress everyone in their social circle. The presents underneath the tree were tokens of wealth, not love, the holiday cheer an act, and Tony himself was only there to be paraded as the Stark heir for the first half of said act before being sent to his room and told to stay out of the way.

Jarvis and Ana and Aunt Peggy were Tony’s only real taste of family during that time, but they weren’t always around to sneak him a treat or give him their presents that Tony treasured far more.

At MIT, Rhodey did manage to drag Tony back with him over winter break and Tony was reminded once again of what he’d been missing. The Rhodes family were some of the kindest people he’d ever met, welcoming this skinny, white boy into their home like he was their own, but Tony had always felt like an intruder. An outsider, looking in with a longing that made him feel like a lonely five-year-old all over again.

He stopped attending family gatherings not long after that and Christmases were spent, depending on the decade, in bed with gorgeous, anonymous people, passed out drunk in a hotel room, or down at the workshop in a Malibu mansion, listening to Dum-E hum carols and JARVIS discuss the many Christmas traditions around the world while Tony, elbows deep in engine and grease, made snarky, fond comments at them both.

JARVIS is not here this Christmas, which will never not _hurt_ , but Friday is, Tony’s curious, over-protective baby girl and she’s good company too. Dum-E, unfortunately, has not become a better singer, but bless his mechanical heart, he does his best every year.

So Tony sends Pepper off with minimal fuss and just like that, he’s left to his own devices.

The first moment of loneliness is almost too much if he’s being honest, the quiet house around him unsettling after always being so full of the hustle and bustle of Tony’s current life, but the solitude will be nice, he tells himself. He just needs a deep breath and a distraction.

He heads down to the workshop first, intent on finishing an upgrade to Rhodey’s suit before heading back to the kitchen so he can cobble up some mockery of Christmas dinner for himself.

His only regret, he thinks, as Friday updates him on the tests they ran earlier, will be missing out on the Christmas festivities at the Bartons.

He still can’t believe Steve and the others accepted that invitation. After what happened, didn’t they realize Laura is going to tear each one of them to pieces as soon as the kids are asleep?

He hums to himself as he walks into the workshop. Steve has been going on for days about ‘Christmas with Bucky’, so poor James is probably there too, likely fantasizing about elaborate murder schemes for each of the Rogues and Tony wonders if he should text James and offer a speedy rescue, but he knows the man can handle himself. This way, he can also give Tony a play-by-play of the drama tomorrow.

Dum-E beeps at him and waves an enthusiastic claw as Tony makes his way through the workshop. The bot goes back to his work and it looks like he’s trying to fold up the blanket on the couch.

Tony can’t help his smile. The bot’s efforts are endearing, that much is true, but it’s also the oversized blanket James always uses when he’s down here. Usually he’s curled up with a book, sometimes dozing off if he’s had a long day. He’s always here after a tough therapy session too and Tony preens every time because it’s a reminder that James sees the workshop as a safe space.

Tony would have never guessed the Winter Soldier would become a regular sight down here, but life still has a way of surprising him, even at the ripe old age of forty-eight, and he tries not to question it, not when the surprise, for once, is quite pleasant.

It didn’t start out that well, of course, not when Tony nearly took James’ head off when the man approached him, not even a day after touching down at the Compound, to _apologize_ , both for his actions in Siberia and his actions under Hydra’s control.

With the arrival and pardons of the Rogues, Tony had been on edge for weeks and that apology made him _livid_ , his overactive anxiety convincing him that the whole thing was some fucked-up joke, set up by Rogers and the rest to make a mockery of the whole damn situation.

It took him a day or two to cool off and realize the stress got the better of him and then, between Friday’s observations and his own, Tony realized Barnes wasn’t exactly what he expected.

The man wasn’t the same guy laughing cheerfully next to Rogers in the old movie reels and he wasn’t much of that silent, gun-touting sidekick either that Tony remembered from Germany and Siberia through a red fog of betrayal and anger.

In fact, Barnes stayed away from the Rogues whenever possible, preferring either solitude or the company of strangers, making quick work of befriending random staff around the Compound, who now love to constantly talk about the polite, but stoic young man who could use another meal and a nice girl (or boy) in his life.

According to Shuri, that was mostly the case in Wakanda too.

So, the next time they saw each other, it was Tony trying to apologize, for the overreaction, for the fight in Siberia, for the shitty hand they were both dealt by life. 

Things sort of fell into place after that.

The smile is still on his face and Tony plops himself down on the couch so he can drag the blanket onto his lap, much to Dum-E’s dismay and protests.

“Sorry, pal, I know you were working hard to tidy up,” Tony says and the bot chirps at him in indignation before turning around and wheeling away to poke at the bench on the other side of the workshop.

Tony watches him fondly while his hands rub over the soft, worn material. There’s a subtle hint of James’ cologne clinging to the blanket too and it eases Tony’s loneliness a little bit.

It didn’t take long at all for Tony to find himself addicted to James Barnes. The man’s genuine curiosity is intoxicating and Tony can’t help but admire the way that brilliant brain absorbs new information like a sponge now that it’s no longer being wiped clean. James is nothing like Steve used to be, years and years ago, he’s inquisitive and eager to learn, and it urges Tony to come up with even more shiny, new things just so he can show off to James.

James is broody and introspective, but he always _listens_ and the way he watches Tony, intently, like there’s nothing else in the world more interesting than Tony, never fails to send a delighted shiver down Tony’s spine.

It’s even better— and Tony’s self-aware enough to admit that this is petty; he doesn’t really care— when Rogers is in the same room and James still can’t take his eyes off Tony.

James’ charm these days is in the things he doesn’t say, his actions showing the true content of his character, but it doesn’t mean his carefully chosen words are any less effective. A soft murmur of Russian when James gets lost in his thoughts and Tony’s brain goes haywire. A growl and a order to shut up when Barton gets too rowdy, and Tony wants to preen like a peacock.

He doesn’t _need_ a protector, but by god, he enjoys watching James _be_ protective.

Tony knows he’s nursing a crush now and James doesn’t exactly try to hide the way he looks at Tony either, but Tony doesn’t try to push things further. Sometimes, even when there’s both attraction and friendship, it’s still not enough— him and Pepper are a prime example of that— but even if the odds are ever in their favor, Tony doesn’t want to add the pressure of romance onto James’ already full plate. The man is still healing and there’s no rush, even if Tony is itching sometimes to lay claim to that shy smile to see what it tastes like. To see if he can keep it all to himself.

He clings to the blanket for one more moment, allows himself another slow inhale and then lets go, getting up and heading over to the station where War Machine is laid out. Rhodey is about to get a kick-ass upgrade for Christmas.

***

“Are you sure, Buck? You know it’d mean a lot to me.”

James barely holds back a scowl at the old moniker. _Bucky, Bucky, Bucky_ , it grates on him like nails on a chalk board, to be called by a dead man’s name.

He doesn’t bother wasting energy these days on asking, over and over, to be called James— _it’s still my damn name, Steve, my own mother gave it to me_ — because it falls on deaf ears, but that doesn’t stop him from being annoyed.

He looks away from the floating holographic screen in front of him.

“I told you, I don’t want to go.”

After decades of being told what to do and having no choice but to obey, stating his desires so plainly and without qualifiers feels good. No wonder his therapist says to ‘communicate his needs and wants clearly and more often’ and that he won’t be punished for a simple expression of what he wants.

It’s not punishment exactly, but Steve’s face twists as if he swallowed a lemon.

“But Bucky, it’s Christmas… This time of year, it, uh, it meant a lot to us. Do you remember? It was always so damn cold and we’d spend it bundled up under those thin, old blankets. We’d scrounge up enough change to treat ourselves to that hot chocolate from the shop down the street though and you’d always have something sweet in your pocket when you came to Christmas dinner with us…”

Steve trails off, awkwardly, when James’ neutral expression doesn’t budge in the face of this reminiscing.

_Do you remember?_

Steve always asks and because James is not made of stone, because he’s no longer the Asset who feels nothing that isn’t pertinent to the mission, his heart aches for this man who’s so desperate to find some kernel of familiarity, so desperate to hang on to memories that are still fresh to him.

The problem, however, is that he’s hanging onto a ghost and Steve’s refusal to give up only drives the wedge between them further and deeper.

It certainly doesn’t help when there’s already a chasm between them, too many differences and disagreements, starting with James taking on the guilt for the debacle of last year since Steve refuses to own up to a damn thing.

“I’m sorry, Steve, no, I don’t remember.”

There isn’t much of Bucky left within him. Glimpses, habits and traits here and there, but mostly, he’s someone else entirely now. Not Bucky, not the Asset, not a man anyone remembers.

Just James, but unfortunately, that just isn’t enough for some.

The tight line of Steve’s lips says plenty; James’ answer obviously hurts and Steve wants to lash out, demand that James just _stop_ with this stubborn act, but Steve is better at controlling his temper around James.

Unfortunately, those built-up frustrations usually end up being dumped on Tony, which only pushes James further away from Steve. He’s grown to see Tony as one of his closest friends, after all.

He’s grown to _love_ Tony, if he’s being honest, but that much honestly and introspection is too much on Christmas Eve.

After the pardons and knowing he would be living here, on Tony’s dime, James could do little else but try to make things right. Back then, he didn’t know what the ‘right’ thing was - did Tony still want to hurt him? Kill him? James didn’t want to die, not really, but he would’ve let Tony take his pound of flesh if it eased the man’s burden.

He didn’t know, but finding Tony and apologizing was the one thing he _could_ do and it was first on the list the moment they came to the Compound.

It didn’t go well. Tony looked like he wanted to kill him, although all he did was tell James to go straight to hell. Friday did threaten to shoot him however and the little robot— Dum-E, he later learned— took matters into his own claw and tossed a fire extinguisher straight at James’ head.

Not expecting anything better, James didn’t take any of that personally. He would’ve tried again, but days later, Tony was the one who found James. 

There were more awkward apologies and they came to a truce, both content to let bygones be bygones just so they could co-exist in the same space in peace.

Everything could’ve ended there, with him and Tony going their separate ways, but life had other plans.

James watches carefully as Steve reins in those frustrations and gathers himself; he walks around to take a seat next to James on the couch.

Always too close, too dismissive of the personal space James tries to assert around himself.

That’s another thing his therapist talks about a lot. Tells him he’s allowed to politely say ‘no’ when someone asks him to share, whether it’s his time they demand, his space, his affection.

It’s the first thing that draws him to Tony too. Tony never _demands_ , he never assumes, and he’s always so damn careful with James.

James knows that care comes from _understanding_ , from similar experiences they would both rather forget, and it both warms and breaks his heart in equal measure.

“Bucky,” Steve cajoles with a soft voice, like James is a scared child in need of guidance, “just come with us. We’ll, uh, we’ll build new memories, how does that sound? We have to start somewhere and this will be great. You’ll be with your friends, your _family_.”

Steve places far too much emphasis on that last word, then gives a meaningful glance in the direction of the foyer where the others are waiting for them, impatient and ready to leave.

Funny how Steve conveniently forgets that James nearly came to blows with the witch just last week when she bad-mouthed Tony, _again_.

These people, they are a lot of things to him, but family sure as hell isn’t it and it’s a good thing James has gotten pretty good at saying ‘no’.

“No, thank you,” he says, politely, because his therapist also tells him that his trauma doesn’t give him the right to be unnecessarily cruel to others. He appreciates the reminder, sometimes. “I’d just like the evening to myself.” 

“Steve, just give it up already,” he hears Barton nearly shout from across the room. By the slight slur to his words, looks like the archer has started in on the spiked eggnog early. “Barnes clearly doesn’t give a fuck about ‘family’, at least not the people who sacrificed every damn thing for him.”

“Clint, this really isn’t the time—”

“We all know he’d much rather follow Stark around like a dumb, lovesick puppy.”

The witch snorts, as if Barton’s some great comedian.

Steve looks ready to chastise them like schoolchildren, but Barton beats him to it as he throws his arms out.

“What? It’s true! We all know it is. Any time Stark’s in the room, _Bucky_ over there turns into Stark’s great, big defender and then they trade these coy little looks with each other, like they’re in on some inside joke. I mean, shit, if Stark asked, I bet Barnes would bend over for him right then and there.”

Steve hisses Barton’s name and now even Romanova steps in to ask the man to stop. There’s a cacophony of voices, Steve momentarily distracted from his conversation with James as Barton doubles-down on his unwanted opinions.

James doesn’t take this part personally either, especially since it’s not exactly false. 

There’s a strange magnetism between him and Tony, something he long ago stopped trying to fight.

After that initial exchange of apologies, it starts with simple run-ins in the kitchen or some other part of the Compound. Basic ‘hellos’ are exchanged, a smile here and there. They’re not the beaming smiles Tony gives Banner or Thor or any of the New Avengers, but neither are they laced with that sense of bitterness that permeates Tony’s features any time he looks at Steve and the others. 

They find each other in the dark after nightmares one night; the next time it happens, Tony pours him a drink and it doesn’t take long for it to become their ritual. Sometimes they say nothing and sometimes they find nonsense topics to distract them from the monsters under their bed. James can’t get drunk, but the way the expensive liquor burns down his throat is pleasant and the company is always exquisite too.

More time passes and one day, James can’t hold his tongue anymore and he gets into a fight with Barton when the man keeps making not-so-subtle jibes at Tony. Tony lets the bullshit roll off him like water off a duck, all sarcasm and mocking media smiles, but James is sick and tired of the insults, the derision, the gaul of these people to throw insults one moment and use Tony’s money and home the next.

Apparently, this behavior isn’t new, and the part of Tony’s family that used to be around for the ‘before’ love to vent their frustrations over this exact thing to James’ eager ear, but this is still new to _James_ and his fuse is a bit short these days. 

There’s shouting and name-calling, although it ends before any punches are thrown when Banner walks in and asks them to please act like adults. His words are calm, but his cheeks are dusted green, so James backs away, but he has a hard time regretting anything. He doesn’t even regret putting that wounded, betrayed look on Steve’s face because he’s far too enamored with the pleased look on Tony’s.

Later, weeks later, Tony invites James down to his workshop, a private space none of the others are allowed to see anymore, and it’s all downhill from there. James never stood much of a chance against Tony’s charm and kindness to begin with, but _trust_? Trust is precious.

Tony maintains his new metal arm now. There was some trade struck with Princess Shuri to obtain the blueprints, and although the arm doesn’t require nearly as much work as the old one, which jammed painfully after almost every fight, Tony is always eager to do the work and it becomes one of James’ favorite past times, just the two of them at the workshop, with Tony dressed down, comfortable, and in his element, with James a little too breathless and entirely captivated.

It’s hard to keep his eyes off Tony. Tony is fascinating, the future and its marvels all wrapped up in a gorgeous package with a ridiculous sense of humor and a generous streak a mile wide. He’s breathtaking when he works, when he laughs and trades jokes back and forth with Banner or Peter. There’s a tenderness to him when he coos to pieces of tech around the house to coax them into working again, when he puts a blanket over Harley when the kid passes out over his homework, when Rhodes has to take off the braces he wears all day and Tony helps massage the strained muscles to alleviate some of the pain.

James covets every glimpse of Tony, even more so when Tony is looking right back. With every casual touch, every smile, every conversation, he’s falling for Tony just a bit more.

He’s aware of the way Tony’s eyes linger on him too, the appreciative glances, the way whiskey-colored eyes trace the lines of James’ body, at the gym or sprawled over the couch in the workshop. There’s a mutual attraction, it’s obvious, but other than the standard flirting Tony employs with nearly everyone as part of his usual charm, there have been no other advances and James doesn’t let himself think too much of it.

Tony is full of life and wonder, as bright and breathtaking and warm as the sun, while James belongs in the shadows. He’s content with the glimpses of sunlight and the whispers of heat on his skin when he’s lucky enough to be the focus of Tony’s attentions.

Barton stopped the ranting, it seems, mostly due to Romanova’s stern words rather than the dressing down coming from Steve. The silence is nice, but it also means Steve’s attention is back on James. 

“Bucky, please come with me. You know what it would mean to me and besides, why would you want to spend your first Christmas alone?”

James almost says he wants to spend his first Christmas at the Compound with _Tony_ , but that would be cruel and no one needs a glimpse into James’ fantasies of domestic bliss with a certain gorgeous, brilliant superhero.

Besides, Tony probably has a dozen parties to attend and a whole family to spend his holidays with, and if James can’t be a part of that, solitude is a decent alternative.

He reminds himself to be kinder and tries to give Steve a smile, but it must come off as a grimace because Steve’s face crumbles as James says, “I’m staying, Steve, I’m sorry. I hope you all have a good night though.”

There’s a finality to his words that Steve finally accepts, but the wounded, betrayed look lingers, making James uncomfortable, too big for his own skin, until Steve and the others finally leave the room.

He can breathe again, suddenly, and the tension in his muscles uncoils. _Damn._ He doesn’t realize until that moment just how tense he’s been that entire time, how his body still reacts to these people like they’re a threat.

The holographic screen in front of him doesn’t hold his interest anymore, so he swipes it away and heads to the gym. A strenuous workout to get the rest of this stress out sounds fantastic and then he can make something simple for dinner in Tony’s well-stocked kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Say hi to me on [tumblr](https://ali-aliska.tumblr.com).


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'd think, after writing so much winteriron, I would stop pretending that I can put Tony and Bucky in the same room and end up with something _short_... 
> 
> So I'm just gonna let the boys do their thing, let them spend thousands of words being the dumb nerds in love that they are while I quietly go change the chapter count back to ??? 
> 
> I assume no one will complain.

The cool water beating down on his overheated body feels marvelous after that strenuous workout and the sensation further improves James’ already lighter mood. With no one here but the skeleton crew clocking in overtime on the other side of the Compound, he has this whole place to himself, which in itself is a novelty. Friday is in privacy mode too, only monitoring for signs of dire emergencies (smoke, fire, poisonous gases, her name being screamed at top decibels, whatever else may constitute danger), but James does hope she’s awake and celebrating elsewhere, in her own AI way.

An empty Compound means no wounded glances, no regaling of moments and memories James’ mind longer has access to. There’s no sniping, no lewd comments, no passive-aggressive smiles. It’s peace and quiet and there’s room to breathe and that’s about as much as James can ask for these days.

It’s still a little lonely and James misses Tony far more than he’s willing to admit, but other than that mild ache deep down in his chest that tells him something he really, _really_ wants is out of reach, James can’t complain. He huffs a quiet breath, then swipes the straight razor down his cheek and flicks the shaving cream into the sink. If he gets too bored or too lonely, he can always go down to the workshop, wake up Dum-E and U, and let the bots keep him company. 

He continues his ministrations, careful swipes down his jaw. Swipe and flick, swipe and flick. It’s soothing and he finds himself humming some tune, something that’s been stuck in his head on and off all week. After a few bars, he realizes it’s a Christmas song and the reflection looking back at him smiles. A bit strange to see himself smile like this, but he’s getting used to it. 

There is a whole group of teenagers now, which began with Princess Shuri and has now recruited the entire extended Avengers clan, who have taken it upon themselves to educate James in the finer points of the twenty-first century. Most of his education is focused on the ins and outs of pop culture, slang, ‘memes’ (which become outdated within a week’s time, it seems, and James doesn’t try to keep up anymore), and everything he ever needed to know about books, films, and television programs that are shaping the psyche of the current generation. 

December is a reprieve from the usual pop culture onslaught, but it’s traded in for a festive bombardment of Christmas movies, songs, and sugary confections (the ‘memes’, he can tell, are ubiquitous and no holiday is safe). 

James doesn’t have the heart to tell the kids that there were in fact Christmas songs, cookies, _and_ films in the 20s and 30s, but he enjoys relearning the world all the same.

So he lets himself hum, probably off-tune, but there’s no one here to call him on it. The words follow the notes as they manifest in his mind and then he’s singing along in his head.

_Make my wish come true~_

_All I want for Christmas is you~_

The words bring with them a certain warmth, images, a wish of his own, made up of some ridiculous fantasy of kisses by the fire, kisses that taste like chocolate and feel like Tony’s soft, carefree laughter against his lips. 

When he glances back into the mirror, his expression is almost bashful.

God, he is such a _sap_ , he chastises himself, but he doesn’t bother schooling his expression into its usual stoicism. 

So he dreams and he fantasies, there’s nothing wrong with that, because for the first time in decades, his mind is his own and there’s room in there now for these sweet, heated, fanciful secrets. The problem, however, is that he’s unsure what to make of it all, what to _do_. 

Whether anything should be done at all.

Tony, James learned early on, is an affectionate, tactile creature who will lavish you with said affection as soon as mutual trust is established (remove trust and Tony watches you like a hawk, watches your hands, your body, your _being_ and calculates all the ways you can hurt him, all the ways he can _stop_ you; James will always thank whatever god wants the praise that Tony no longer sees a threat when he looks at him).

Tony is sweet, he flirts as he breathes, and taking it all too seriously is a fool’s errand.

But there _is_ attraction there, James knows that. What he doesn’t know is whether attraction is all that it is.

He’s never been much of a prude and after his Winter Soldier days, whatever lingering Catholic guilt he might have harbored had been beaten out of him, so there isn’t a moral dilemma with the concept of casual sex.

If there _is_ a dilemma, it’s the fact that he wants so much _more_. He won’t deny that the sizzling sexual tension, the one that feels like electricity running up and down his skin whenever they’re both in the same room, is amazing and there are times when he sees Tony, when he sees those corded, lean muscles, that beautiful body, on display at the gym in all its glory (and Tony harbors no modesty and wears training shorts that bring James’ entire brain function to a grinding halt every time) and in those moments all he can think about is the slide of slick skin against skin, the need to touch every part he can reach, kiss every dip and curve, sink into that sweet heat and _worship_ this man…

He wants that, yes, but he _also_ wants to hold Tony’s hand when they walk down the snowy trails of the Compound grounds and trade latest bits of gossip. He wants quiet evenings when they sit next to each other, thighs and shoulders pressed together, as they give themselves over to their hobbies. He wants to carry Tony to bed when the man inevitably passes out, slumped over yet another invention, and he wants to wrap himself around Tony, as close as can be, as they fall back asleep, together.

For someone who had no capacity to desire _anything_ for three quarters of a century, James wants _a lot_ and that’s another thing he’s still getting used to.

His stomach grumbles, displeased and impatient, just as James makes the final swipe of his blade, and the demands continue as James takes the time to carefully clean the razor before putting it back in its case. Electric razors are convenient and he tried using one when he came back to the States, but he still prefers a straight razor. 

Getting dressed should be the next step, but after a moment’s thought, James decides to swing by the kitchen first. Sure, he’s only got a towel wrapped around his waist and his hair is still wet and unbrushed, but he’s alone and he’s craving an orange, suddenly and inexplicably, and why wait when he knows for a fact there is a basket of oranges, sitting like a gorgeous piece of decoration, right on the counter?

His bare toes curl into the plush carpet as he watched himself think this through and it’s thrilling actually, this silly, little idea. He hadn’t had this sort of freedom, this level of comfort and sense of safety in… well, _ever_ , possibly.

There was no such thing as safety and freedom with Hydra, but even after, when he was on the run, there was no room for comfort either, not when he could’ve been ambushed at any moment (by Hydra, by Steve, by whoever wanted a piece of the Winter Soldier).

He remembers going to bed fully dressed every night, even his shoes, so he could be ready to run at the first sign of danger. Getting himself clean was a nightmare, because he couldn’t pull _that_ off fully dressed, and each bath consisted of two or three nerve-wrecking, tense, hurried minutes, with a gun and a blade always within reaching distance.

Now though… Now is different. He knows he is safe (as safe as he can be, at least) and there’s no clawing need inside him to reach for a weapon, no desire to run. There’s nothing stopping him from simply going to the kitchen, grabbing an orange, and coming back to get dressed at his leisure, because he’s _home_ and this is…

This is what _normal_ people do sometimes, in the comfort of their own safe havens.

The _pitter-patter_ of his bare feet over the hardwood floors is barely audible, but he’s finds himself humming again, riding the high of this burst of energy, the thrill of being free. He’s humming and he’s thinking whether he should also grab a drink, a coffee maybe or spiced cider or—

Those meandering thoughts come to a screeching halt as James freezes at the threshold of the kitchen, eyes wide as saucers as Tony turns around—

 _Oh god, Tony is home! Why is he_ home _?_

Tony turns around to glance over his shoulder, probably having heard the humming, still holding a glass of amber liquid halfway to his lips. That glance is purely curious at first and then his eyes go a little wide as he sees James, then wider still when he sees the _rest_ of James and that’s when James promptly decides he might just need to put himself back into cryostasis indefinitely.

“T-Tony?” he manages to push past his lips, but there’s a possibility it comes out as a squeak. He’ll never own up to if it did. Every bit of him, down to his very bare toes, feels flushed, a sudden heat crawling up his spine, over his neck, and he can feel fire across his cheeks. The hand at his hip strengthens its already deadly grip on the towel. “Um…” he swallows. “Hi?”

That one is definitely a squeak.

Tony’s head tilts just a fraction and his lips twitch. “Hi yourself, soldier.”

“You’re, uh— you’re _home_?”

“Sure am.”

The more James wants to sink through the floor, the more Tony’s eyes seem to sparkle with mischief and there’s a crinkle at the corner of each narrowed eye now. Tony’s mouth parts, just enough for James to see that pink tongue swipe over his upper teeth. 

Tony makes him breathless sometimes, that’s old news, but this… this is something else entirely.

Later, much later, he’ll reflect on the fact that here he was, nearly naked, _vulnerable_ , and in the presence of a man who had a dozen and one ways to hurt him— _kill_ him— and he never felt safer. The importance of that will make his knees weak and his throat dry, but right now he’s just trying to focus on remembering how to breathe.

Tony doesn’t plan to help with that apparently because he takes a step closer as he twirls the glass in his hand, casual as can be, obviously fighting a smile, one James knows will be a devious— _gorgeous_ — smile.

“Thought you’d be at the Bartons.”

“Didn’t want Laura to kill me.”

“Smart. I’ll be honest, I didn’t expect anyone to be here tonight, but this…” he tips the glass in James’ direction, “this is a lovely surprise. Wish, uh, wish I would’ve known about the dress code though.” 

That smile finally shines through and Tony is outright grinning while James prays for a swift death.

Well, _mostly_. In some part of his mind, there’s a swirl of pride, a heated thing that ignites something primal within him because there’s power and pleasure in knowing, in _seeing_ , that Tony can’t take his eyes off James… Tony isn’t even _trying_ as he makes a show of looking James up and down. 

James knows he’s conventionally attractive, knows Bucky Barnes once used to be flirtatious and bold and had a way with words that had both men’s and women’s heads spin and clothing flying off, but he lost that come-hither swagger, the smooth-as-silk delivery of enticing words, the tantalizing curve of his lips, and he doesn’t feel that desirable most days, not with the mess of scars on his body, not with the hunk of Vibranium attached to him… but Tony’s gaze always leaves him on fire and _wanted_.

It’s tempting, in moments like these, to give into the attraction, even if Tony’s interests don’t extend much further than that. 

Tempting, but James isn’t sure he can live with having a taste of that fire, that _starlight_ , and then slinking right back to the shadows to watch Tony live the rest of his life from afar.

He isn’t thinking about those doubts though, not right now, not when his body is lit up with heat, including the only part of him that’s currently covered and James goes right back to wanting to sink through the floor in mortification when he realizes that the towel won’t protect his modesty for much longer.

“Why aren’t you at a— I mean— I thought I was alone _too_ ,” James manages, because that’s the only excuse he has. “I thought— thought you’d be at some fancy party or— with Miss Potts or Rhodes—”

“Nope, decided to have the night to myself. And my goodness, I am so glad I did.” Tony sidles over a bit closer and there’s only a barely a foot between them now. “Seeing the Winter Soldier in my kitchen half-naked… it’s a Christmas miracle, James.” 

James closes his eyes and groans and this is where Tony finally bursts out into giddy laughter which quickly turns into almost uncontrollable giggles.

“You are a menace, Tony Stark,” James mutters, watching the man from under his lashes. He wonders why he’s still just _standing there_ , but his legs don’t seem to remember how to move.

“And you are just _adorable_ when you blush, oh my god.” Tony’s eyes crinkle even more, a complement to his toothy smile. “I don’t think I’ve ever seem you blush, actually. I’m sorry, I know this is mortifying, but I’m living for this, tell ya the truth. Should we ask Friday to wake back up so I have proof of this tomorrow?”

“Don’t you dare.”

Tony hums, mischief and mirth pouring off him in waves, but thankfully no call is made to summon Friday and record James’ embarrassment for posterity. Tony takes a sip from his drink, that smug look on his face both infuriating and enticing and James uses that pause to gather his senses and regain his equilibrium. His eyes start to work right, apparently, because he actually takes Tony in, _all of him_ , and embarrassment is momentarily forgotten.

“Wait. Is that— is that  _my_ sweater you're wearing?” 

Tony goes still, the glass still tipped to his lips, and his eyes do that deer-caught-in-headlights thing too. James wonders if that’s what he looked like a few minutes ago as he watches Tony lower the glass slowly.

“No,” the man says as he glances down at the sweater that is _obviously_ James’, “no, it’s not.”

“ _Yes_ , it is.”

There’s a beat of silence and then Tony huffs and rolls his eyes, but the whole thing is too exaggerated to just be exasperation and James _so_ onto him. “Fine, maybe it is… but finders keepers, James! You left it down in the workshop and it’s mine now. Them’s the rules.” 

James doesn’t mind, actually, because the idea of Tony wearing his clothes does things to him… Pleasant, tingly things and he’s reminded all over again that he’s standing practically naked, in the Compound kitchen, having a casual conversation with the man he dreams about at night. 

The man who is wearing James’ sweater and looks _amazing_ doing so and suddenly the towel is feeling very small and very inadequate all over again.

James coughs and holds onto that damn towel for dear life. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m… gonna go find some pants now.”

Tony recovers from his own moment of embarrassment far too quickly and James is envious. “Aw, do you have to?”

“I really do.” 

Tony laughs again, then shakes his head and makes a shooing motion.

James turns and is about to high-tail it out of there, but Tony’s voice stops him short just a few steps in.

“Hey, James?”

James turns around.

“Once you’re dressed and everything, feel free to come back and join me.” Tony considers him for a moment and some of that earlier humor and teasing gives away to a softer expression. “You’re free to hang out on your own or whatever your plans were, there’s no pressure, but I’d love some company for the night.” 

James nods, because he’s pretty sure speaking isn’t smart right now since he’s about five seconds away from blurting out ‘I’d love nothing more!” and then where would he be? Half-naked in front of Tony and confessing his undying love, that’s where.

He gives Tony a smile though, a real one, because this _is_ exactly where he wants to be for Christmas, and then promptly books it out of the kitchen.

Behind him, he still hears Tony’s little peal of laughter and a very enthusiastic, “Dammit Barnes, I am still _loving_ the view!” 


End file.
